


Deck the Halls (Not the Boss's Son)

by Aimz777



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben's a teasing dom, Christmas Dinner, F/M, HAN JUST WANTS TO TELL HIS STORY, I don't even know anymore, Please Don't Hate Me, Rey is in denial, Strong Language, also fluffy sappy sex, and put that magnifying glass away, because it's christmas, did I just write an enemies-to-lovers fic full of hate sex as a christmas gift for a crylo?, hope you like it, hot angry hate sex is coming, just don't tell leia, more smut, smut from Ch2, the smut has arrived, this one's for you ruby drew, unprotected sex, why yes-yes I did
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimz777/pseuds/Aimz777
Summary: After admitting to her editor that she's spending Christmas alone, political correspondent Rey is invited to the Solo-Organa's for a family Christmas dinner. Little does she know, their estranged son Ben Solo is also invited, except Rey knows him by a different name – Kylo Ren, Snoke’s Press Secretary, who she might have accidentally had a torrid secret affair with on the presidential campaign trail six months ago…Christmas dinner shenanigans and smutty flashbacks ensue.





	1. Solos Drink Bourbon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dalzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/gifts).



> For the AMAZING writer of many names........ DALZO!!! Merry Christmas, Lovely!
> 
> Based on her hilariously brilliant prompt:  
> After admitting that she's spending Christmas alone to her boss, Rey is invited to the Solo-Organa's for a family Christmas dinner. Upon her arrival, however, she discovers that their estranged son is the man she left years ago, Kylo Ren. At this shocking revelation, she discovers many things about the man she used to (still) loves, like his real name and the strong effect he still has on her. Shenanigans ensue, lots of UST, angsty crowded bathroom talks that lead to some hot-ass make out sessions and, naturally, some under-the-table smutty foolishness. 
> 
> FYI - This story is set in a political landscape as loose as your old, baggy Christmas sweater. Just go with it, it's Christmas.

Rey stands at the front door of the stunning Chandrila Heights residence, plate of Christmas cookies in hand, and wills herself not to run screaming for the taxi that is slowly vanishing into the distance.

She shouldn't even be here.

Christmases for Rey are usually spent getting drunk with Finn while watching sappy holiday Hallmark movies in their pyjamas and eating copious amounts of Chinese leftovers and chocolate pudding, not dressing up in her least shabby dress to attend a formal dinner at her boss's mountain mansion.

Unfortunately, after Leia had pressed her last week for her Christmas Day plans and Rey had reluctantly mumbled something about cat-sitting for Poe while he and Finn went out of town for the holidays, Leia had immediately insisted that she join the Organa-Solo festivities, protesting until she was blue in the face that Rey spending Christmas Day alone would be nothing short of a holiday tragedy.

The thing is, Rey is used to being alone. After so much experience with the concept, it’s almost a comfort really. In fact, if she had to choose between hanging out in her small flat with Poe’s adorable ginger tabby, Bebe, or a fancy meal with a bunch of stuffy strangers, she’d go with Bebe every time.  Bebe wouldn’t judge her for putting on her 'fat pants' after her third helping of Chinese takeout, or bawling into her pillow out of sympathy for poor Emma Thompson when she discovers her husband is a cheating dirtbag in Love Actually.

Still, as much as Christmas alone would keep her within her comfort zone, she ultimately found Leia’s kind offer impossible to refuse, partly due to the intense wave of gratitude that hit her at her boss’s thoughtfulness, and partly because she knew Leia wouldn’t take no for an answer.

So here she is, in her knee-length, forest green dress that she had deemed to be the most holiday appropriate clothing she owns - which, coincidentally, perfectly matches the Christmas tree gingerbread cookies she’d baked the night before - with her finger hovering over the doorbell.

Mustering up every last ounce of courage, she presses the button and waits.

And waits…

And waits some more.

After a minute or two, she wonders whether she should try the bell again or just take it as a sign from above and literally head for the hills.

She has backtracked to the third step when she hears the muffled, yet unmistakable sounds of her boss yelling from inside, her voice becoming clearer with every word.

_“-unbelievably rude -- guests just left outside in the cold -- too busy blustering on about your god-damned booze to answer-”_

The door flies open to reveal The Alderaan Journal’s Editor in Chief, Leia Organa, dressed in a navy blue outfit with a Santa hat perched precariously upon her head and a half empty wine glass in her hand.

“Ah, Rey!” she says with a relieved smile. “Thank God you’re here. The testosterone in this house is overwhelming.”

She promptly leans over to give Rey a warm hug and steps aside to let her enter.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting. Once Han starts talking about his liquor collection he never stops, so as usual I have to do everything around here myself.”

Rey smiles politely and murmurs that it’s no bother, but Leia is already marching back through the house at a smart pace, and despite being a good foot taller than the older woman, Rey has to practically jog to keep up.

The house reminds Rey of a stylish, modern mountain lodge, standing tall in steel, stone and timber, and lavishly decorated in a style that somehow manages to make it appear both luxuriously spacious and comfortably cosy all at the same time. With its airy, open-plan layout and wide glass windows that offer sweeping views of the surrounding snowy mountain tops, Rey can’t help but feel a bit gobsmacked at the sight. 

She has to shake herself out of her momentary stupor when Leia turns a corner and she loses sight of her, and she sprints to catch up, afraid that if she gets lost in a house this big she may never be heard from again.

As Rey comes huffing round the bend, she finds Leia shouting at a weary looking older man nursing a tumbler of dark, amber liquid. The man, while very tall, seems to shrink a couple of inches every second under Leia’s tirade.  They stand in front of a roaring fire in the middle of what appears to be the living room, and off to the side on the taupe coloured suede lounge suite sit three other men, all sporting matching grins as they spectate from a safe distance.

“When I asked you to answer the door, I didn’t mean ‘finish your pointless story about whatever back alley bar you sourced this latest batch from, and _then_ answer the door’, I meant, ‘answer the door, _now’_.  Poor Rey could have frozen to death out there!”

The look of innocent incredulity that lights up the man’s lined face nearly makes Rey burst out laughing.

“I was going, Princess. You just beat me to it.”

“Yeah, you were going alright, just not in this century.”

“But sweetheart-”

 _Sweetheart_ …

The world drowns out around her as the word, even though it is spoken so softly, so innocently, and by a stranger no less, pierces through her chest like a knife.

A word forever ruined for her. Forever tarnished.

Just one more casualty from Snoke’s presidential re-election campaign trail.

Two syllables that once meant nothing to her, now conjure up memories, memories she shouldn’t be remembering in the middle of her editor’s living room.

Memories of being thrown up against rough brick walls in dark alleyways.

Memories of rushed, frantic rumbles in rooms with unlockable doors.

Memories of jet black hair juxtaposed starkly against white, rumpled motel sheets.

The smell of sex, the feel of skin, the taste of sweat and the sound of _sin_.  Sin in the form of a six-foot-something devil with the face of an angel and the deep, thundering voice of a god.

A voice that whispered words in the dark when only she could hear.

A voice that whispered _that_ word.

_Sweetheart…_

“Don’t ‘ _sweetheart’_ me,” Leia interrupts sternly with a light slap to the man’s chest, and her voice cuts through the buzzing in Rey’s ears, jolting her out of her own head and back to reality.  Leia glares up at the man for a long minute before turning back to Rey with an indulgent smile.  “Everyone, this is Rey, the best political journalist on my staff.  She is our honoured guest tonight, so you’d all better behave yourselves or I’ll be cutting you off.” Rey tries not to blush as Leia scowls around the room

“From the food or the drink?” one of the men asks – the one with mousey grey hair and a thick beard – and the fact he doesn’t turn to stone on the spot from the look Leia throws him is a miracle.

Other than that, Leia pointedly ignores the question and walks back over to Rey, grasping her hand reassuringly.

“I have to run back into the kitchen, so I’ll leave my husband to introduce you to this lot and get you a drink. I trust he can do that much.” The last sentence seems directed more at Han than anyone else, and behind them Han grumbles under his breath.  With one final squeeze of her fingers, Leia disappears back the way she came and Rey stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, alone.

Han shuffles over to her with hunched shoulders and a guilty expression.

“Sorry, kid. I’ve never been any good at the whole ‘entertaining’ thing.”

“It’s fine,” Rey says with a smile, taking pity on the poor guy.

“Yeah, well…” he trails off awkwardly. “Let’s get you a drink and then I’ll introduce you to the peanut gallery over there.”  He jerks his head vaguely in the direction of the couch, before suddenly turning back to her with an eager expression on his face.  “Say… do you like bourbon?”

><><><><>< 

As it turns out, Rey does, in fact, like bourbon.

By the time she’s been introduced to Leia’s brother, Luke and Han’s high school buddies, Lando and Chewie, she’s three quarters through her first glass; the spicy, oaky richness gliding down her throat with ease and giving her a warm, toasty buzz that makes her forget all about her cold, empty apartment, unwatched rom coms and three day old fried rice and dim sum.

Luke is polite enough, perhaps a touch grouchy, but Han, Lando and Chewie quickly make her feel welcome, and before long she is sandwiched in between Lando and Chewie as if she is just one of the gang, laughing along to Lando’s multiple tales of all the times Han has nearly been arrested.

“I told him not to do it. I told him there wasn’t enough time.  But no, he just had to take it for a spin.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Han protests over Rey and Chewie’s bouts of laughter from his place on a one-person recliner.   “Qira told me they were going out.  What kind of morons go out on a Saturday night for a half hour dinner?”

“Probably the kind who have left their only daughter at home alone with a handful of young, male troublemakers,” Lando replies, before whispering to Rey conspiratorially, “Before he surpassed all our expectations and managed to bag his fair lady Leia, Qira was Han’s first love.”

“She was a beauty though, a true work of art,” Han continues wistfully, ignoring Lando and seemingly off in his own world all of a sudden, and Rey sneaks a quick, covert glance at Luke, wondering if he might be offended at Han’s happy reminiscence of a woman other than his sister. Luke doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and a moment later, Rey realises why.  “A genuine BMW R60 twin boxer engine; cherry red and in pristine condition.  I’d never seen anything like her, and I’m not sure I have since.”

“Qira’s Pop agreed with you on that point, at least. The second he came home to find out his daughter’s scumbag boyfriend had stolen his precious baby, he was on the phone to the sheriff.”

“I didn’t _steal_ it.  I was just trying her out, giving her a bit of fresh air,” Han says with a shrug.  “He overreacted.”

“Oh, like the way _you_ did when you came home that time to find Ben and the Falcon gone?” Luke pipes up.

Han throws him a stern look.

“Hey, that was completely different. The kid was fourteen. Who knows what could have happened to my baby.”

“By ‘my baby’, he means the Falcon,” Lando sidebars to Rey once again.

Han doesn’t look abashed.

“Yeah well, Ben has a hard head – I knew _he’d_ be fine.  The poor old girl on the other hand - I’d just given her a fresh paint job.”

“Who’s Ben?” Rey asks, feeling very much out of the loop at the continued mention of this stranger.

There’s an awkward pause where suddenly no one is looking at her, instead throwing furtive glances at each other in uncomfortable silence. It passes quickly enough, and after a moment, Han responds with a sigh.

“Ben is my pain in the ass son.” Rey blinks in surprise and Han raises a brow. “I’m surprised Leia hasn’t mentioned him to you.  She spends enough time moaning about him at home; I always figured she’d do the same at work.”

Nope, Rey had never heard Leia speak of a son, moaning or otherwise.

“No, I’ve never heard of-”

“Leia was never one to dwell on her failures,” Luke cuts in. “Especially in public.”

“That’s a little harsh, Luke,” Lando counters levelly. “He might have his moments, but Ben’s alright.”

Luke scoffs loudly.

“Ha! Yeah, okay.”

“Oh, enough about the kid,” Han says finally, shooing away the previous topic like a bad smell with a wave of his hand. “Rey, what you really want to hear about is the time I made the Kessel Run with two crates of Corellia’s greatest moonshine on board.” 

“Yeah, moonshine that he stole from his boss – pretty sure that one resulted in another visit from the Sheriff,” Lando interjects with a sly grin as Chewie guffaws beside him.

“ _Borrowed_ ,” Han corrects him, throwing Lando and Chewie an annoyed glare. “I borrowed it.  I was gonna replace it after pay day.  Why do people keep assuming I steal things?”  He mutters the rhetorical question under his breath, but brushes it off quickly and adjusts himself in his lounge chair to lean in towards Rey, eager to continue his story.  “So, Chewie and I had gotten ourselves into a _slight_ spot of bother with one of the local gangs when-”

The doorbell rings again, cutting Han off midsentence.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he mutters under his breath at the interruption. “Anyway, as I was saying-”

 _Brrrringggg_.

“Han, can you get that?” Leia calls from the kitchen as the doorbell rings for a third time. “Now, please! It’s probably Ben.”

“I thought you said he couldn’t make it?” Han calls back, looking exceedingly put out at having his story interrupted.

Leia’s head pokes around the corner, her Christmas hat askew, and Rey thinks it might even be smoking slightly, like an SOS signal for their upcoming meal.

“Well, that’s what he told me, but when I spoke to him yesterday it sounded like his plans had changed. Is that a problem?”

“How nice of him to fit his family into his busy schedule,” Luke mutters, although he trails off when Leia shoots him a filthy glare.

“Be nice, all of you,” she warns, pointing a wooden spoon at them before her head disappears from sight once more.

Han rolls his eyes, groaning loudly as he gets up from his chair and trudges off to the front door.

“Here we go,” Luke grumbles into his wine glass.

“Oh, get over it, Luke,” Lando says, slapping him on the back lightly. “Christmas isn’t the time to get into political squabbles with relatives.”

“I disagree; Christmas is the _perfect_ time to get into political squabbles with relatives.  I thought that was the whole reason Christmas was invented,” Luke shoots back narkily.

“Luke does _old and bitter_ better than anyone I know,” Lando tells Rey, ignoring the death glares emanating from the man beside him.

“Hey, I’m younger than you, you know!”

“Thankfully no one would ever believe that.”

Rey hides a smile behind her tumbler and takes another deep sip of warm bourbon, which gives her a good excuse to refrain from replying.

Two sets of heavy footsteps make themselves known to her ears, coming louder and louder as they approach the sitting room, but Rey barely notices as the smooth liquid runs down her throat and spreads through her veins, relaxing her whole body and giving her a pleasant buzz.

Han turns round the corner and heads straight for the bar.

“You drinking bourbon tonight, Ben?” he asks over his shoulder, already snatching an empty tumbler from the shelf.

“I wouldn’t dare drink anything else in this house,” comes the reply, spoken in a smooth, deep voice that is the personification of Han’s favourite drink, the drink currently on Rey’s lips. It is just as familiar, and it makes Rey freeze, her eyes flying from the contents of her glass to the doorway.

There must be some mistake.

Because sure enough, the man standing in the doorway is familiar – too familiar.

She knows this man; knows his voice, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his skin.

She knows the way his left eye twitches in anger, the way his mouth creases when he smiles, the way he grunts when he cums…

She knows him, knows who he is.

She knows his name.

And it’s not _Ben_.

The man stands there, with his ridiculous height that she had always found equal parts arousing and intimidating, with his broad shoulders and immaculate attire, with those eyes of his - dark, rich brown eyes that could be so expressively soulful one moment and so deliciously wicked the next…

Eyes that are focused squarely on _her_.

And she’s sure her mouth has fallen open, she’s just sure of it, but that’s the least of her worries now, because the mouth of the man starts to slowly curl into a predatory grin, and before she knows it, he is walking towards her.

“Hello, Rey,” the man says softly, quietly enough not to draw notice from the others.

The man they call _Ben_.

The man she knows as _Kylo Ren_.

><><><><>< 

_ ~Six Months Ago~ _

In reality, she knew his name long before she actually met him in person.

 _Everyone_ knew Kylo Ren; President Snoke’s press secretary.  His tall, imposing figure was a regular feature on the nightly news, as well as a consistent top ten contender for the yearly _Most Eligible Bachelor_ special run in the Chandrila Times.  His sarcastic wit was legendary, and his sharp tongue had made journalists cry on national television on more than one occasion.

Still, none of that had even entered Rey’s mind when she had been handed the opportunity of a lifetime – to cover President Snoke’s re-election campaign for the Alderaan Journal.

Even Rey had been surprised when Leia gave her the assignment after Poe withdrew due his mother’s escalating illness. She knew there were other people in the bullpen that resented her for being the one chosen, and that they were probably secretly hoping she would fail. It was a lot of pressure, but Rey had always thrived in difficult situations, and she was going to make sure this was no different.

Her first stint was covering Snoke’s ten-day tour of the Hosnian system, where she would spend most of her time on the press coach, typing frantically and duelling with shoddy Wi-Fi in an attempt to file stories in between the thirty-five scheduled public appearance stops. There was nothing glamourous about it – when it came to travel arrangements, all the luxury was reserved for Snoke and his team.  Still, Rey had slept in worse places than dingy motel rooms and uncomfortable bus seats, so she wasn’t bothered.  She was much more concerned with making her mark on the political journalism landscape with her first major article.

Luckily for Rey, she already had an idea on just how to do that, and it involved exposing the depraved corruption that brokered every inch of Snoke’s campaign. After his first term in office, Rey could hardly believe that he had been allowed to run again as the First Order candidate.  After the numerous scandals involving the President that had been exposed over the past four years – some of them exposed by the Journal itself – Rey thought Snoke would be better placed in prison than a campaign trail, but apparently he was above the law.

Rey made sure to arrive at the bus nice and early that morning, wanting to be first in line to secure a good seat – a tip she had gotten from Poe himself.  

To mark the kick off of the tour, a briefing was scheduled for the press corps in a couple of hours, before a photo op with Snoke and some of his supporters later in the day. She was undoubtedly early, the meeting area still being dressed by Snoke’s staff, but there was a makeshift coffee stand set up off to the side, so Rey scurried over to pour herself a much needed cup.  She would have to bring her A game if she was to live up to Poe's legacy, and proper caffeination seemed like a good place to start.

Disposable coffee cup in hand, Rey started to wander around the open area, carefully making her way through the volunteers. It seemed like as good a time as any to chat to some of them, try to find out their reasoning for helping out on the campaign of such a despicable human being.  She treaded carefully, making sure not to sound too critical and before long several of the younger chatty helpers had given her some useful insights on the way Snoke ran his team.

 _Like a tyrant_ was the general gist of it.  Hardly surprising.

She was off snooping around some of the propaganda posters when she heard someone with a deep voice clear their throat loudly behind her.

Spinning around, Rey came nose to chest with a very tall man in a tailored black suit.

A man that - she sadly couldn’t help but notice given the close proximity - smelled amazing.

A man that was glaring at her, looking _extremely_ unimpressed.

“Are you lost?” the man questioned her rudely, and the caffeine must have finally caught up to Rey’s addled brain, because she recognised him.

_Kylo Ren._

Between the height, the distinctly handsome facial features and the haughty, imperious presence, he was unmistakable.

She must have taken too long to respond, because after giving her a scrutinising once over under disdainful eyes, he continued.

“This is a closed set. The meet and greet for supporters isn’t until this afternoon.”

“Is that so?” she replied, finally finding her voice. “Lucky I’m not a supporter, then.”

His eyes only narrowed further, and his solid jaw clenched perceptibly.

“The rally for the protesters is a week on Tuesday, four years from now.”

She smiled at that, unable to help herself.

“I’ll put it in my calendar, but I’ll still be sticking around today.”

She dug around in her bag and pulled out the identification tag she’d been sent by Snoke’s staff last week that identified her as a part of the corps, dangling it in his face.

“You’re a reporter?” he asked sceptically, his voice level, but the disbelief still evident. She took a moment before answering to slip her pass on, something she probably should have done earlier.

“I am.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be the lead correspondent on a presidential campaign?”

She forced herself not to visibly stiffen at that, the condescending jab crushingly apparent, but she stood strong, jutting her chin out defiantly.

“My editor clearly doesn’t think so.”

His eyes flew to the press identification badge that hung around her neck, which noted her name and the newspaper she worked for. His eyes drank it in before flying back up to her face with a newly acquired sharpness.

“Where’s Dameron?”

She wasn’t surprised at the question; it was his job after all to be well acquainted with the political correspondents from all the major publications.

“Poe is taking some extended leave,” she said, unwilling to elaborate further.

“So she sent you instead?” It was a rhetorical question, but she replied anyway in the form of a sharp little nod.  Then he raised an eyebrow at her.  “You...  an _amateur._ ”

Rey felt her hands ball into fists at her side, the implication of his words blatantly clear.

He thought she wasn’t good enough. That she was inferior.

_Well, she’d show him._

At twenty-three, she might be young, but she was no rookie. Rey had plenty of experience, and what she lacked in age, she made up for in determination and guts.  Besides, he should know better than to make assumptions based on age.  He couldn’t have been much older than thirty himself, and he had been Press Secretary to the President for several years now.

Rey was ready to spew vitriol back at him, but before she opened her mouth, she was struck with a better idea.

Why not use his own misguided preconceived notions against him?

Slumping her shoulders a little, Rey looked up at him with widened eyes.

“Look, _Sir,_ it’s my first time on a presidential campaign trail, and I’m just trying to do my best.” She paused for a moment before adding, “It’s such an honour to be invited on the President’s tour, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

He eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment, and she made sure to bite her lip ever so softly as she peered back up at him through long lashes. If he wanted an innocent, naïve child, she could play an innocent, naïve child.  He wouldn’t even see her coming.

Eventually he straightened, those broad, hulking shoulders of his relaxing under the fine wool of his suit jacket.

“It _is_ quite a privilege, Miss Niima,” he agreed, his eyes flicking briefly back down to her name badge.  “As long as you treat the president with the respect he deserves, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

She nodded back at him with a grateful little smile.

“Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

For a minute, she wondered if she’d pushed the whole innocent act too far, because his eyes narrowed in suspicion once more, but it passed like a fleeting shadow, and with one final nod the arrogant jerk left her to attend to other matters.

To Rey’s surprise, her ruse paid off spectacularly. Apparently word got around that the new reporter from the Alderaan Journal was out of her depth and might be able to be manipulated into being sympathetic to Snoke’s cause – something that would surely be very appealing to the president’s camp seeing as the Journal had always been notoriously anti First Order.  Throughout the course of the morning she was introduced to Snoke’s chief of staff Armitage Hux, his senior advisor Gwen Phasma, and eventually President Snoke himself, who shook her hand and made her instantly wish for anti-bacterial hand sanitiser, lest she catch his evilness.

All in all, the whole day went splendidly, and once they were all crammed on the bus that afternoon, Rey set about writing her first piece, sending it off to Leia just before she crashed on the hard motel mattress at midnight, deeply resenting Snoke’s key staff who were put up at the small town’s nicer hotel down the street.

She was up early, since they would be on the road again by twelve and Snoke was scheduled to start the day with a breakfast function in the hotel. Thankfully, it provided her and the others of the press corps with a chance to grab a bite to eat.

Rey knew the exact moment Ren read her article – an article headlined ‘ _Snoke’s Latest Hoax’_.  She witnessed the whole thing, from her dark corner where she sat snacking on a buttered croissant.

She watched Hux storm over to Ren the second he walked through the door, watched as he shoved his phone in Ren’s face, his own face nearly as red as his hair, and watched as Ren silently read the contents displayed on the phone, ignoring Hux’s unending rant.

She could pinpoint the exact moment when Ren’s eyes landed on her name in the by-line, because his brow furrowed, then his eyes widened, and finally his head shot up and scanned the room before coming to land on her.

“ _Oops_ ,” she mouthed to him from her chair with a little shrug and an innocent smile.

She waited for him make his next move. Her mind played through different scenarios, from him storming over to yell at her, to perhaps even try to get her removed from the tour.

He didn’t do either.

Instead, he stood there, Hux’s tirade seeming to fade into the background as he stared at her in poorly concealed wonder from across the room, until the curve of his mouth broke into a small, resolved smile.

When they all received their press briefing packets later that morning, hers came with a post-it note stuck to the front, and she couldn’t quite bite back a smile when she read it.

 _\- Game on, Amateur._                                     


	2. A Slow, Comfortable Screw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey is in shock, Ben feels like teasing and Han just wants to tell his story.
> 
> Also; Flashback smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Ruby, and all lovely readers!!! Hope you all had a good one!
> 
> Quick chapter note: A Sarlacc is the monster thingy in ROTJ that Jabba tries to feed Han to, for those of you (like me) who wouldn't have remembered that.
> 
> Also, please note the new tags. Ben and Rey do some silly things in this chapter... Don't follow their lead; practice safe sex this holiday season!

This must be what having a stroke feels like.

Rey didn’t think she would die so young.  She has so much still left to do, so much to live for…

Except, right now she thinks perhaps she will happily give up all those unexperienced moments just to avoid _this one_. 

Anything would be better than having to endure this moment, the one where she is standing opposite Kylo Ren in her editor’s festive living room on Christmas night, completely blindsided, unprepared and worst of all… _unarmed_. 

That doesn’t seem to be a problem for _him_ ; that smarmy, knowing smirk has always been his greatest weapon against her, turning her legs to a puddle of goo at a moment’s notice and making all her common sense fly out the nearest window.

Perhaps the ground could swallow her whole, or _him_ whole, or both of them – even that would be preferable, provided they didn't end up in the same place _together_ , which would completely defeat the purpose. 

To her utter relief, Kylo doesn’t linger in front of her for long, as the men beside her stand to make their own greetings.  He is quickly wrapped up in a massive bear hug by Chewie, and Rey takes the distraction as an opportunity to jump to her own feet and scurry to the other side of the room where Han stands pouring drinks at the bar, urgently needing to put some distance between them.

From her slightly safer vantage point, she watches the affectionate greeting, followed by an equally warm one from Lando.  Despite Kylo being a thirty-something giant, Lando jovially exclaims, “How’ve you been, starfighter?” and ruffles his dark tumble of curls, and whilst Kylo brushes it off and waves him away, Rey can’t help but notice a little bashful smile creep across his face. 

Her ovaries threaten to explode on the spot.

"Top up, Rey?" Han asks from behind the counter, brandishing the still open bourbon bottle, and Rey gratefully thrusts out her glass for him to refill.

Luke’s greeting of his nephew is decidedly less cuddly, the two men simply nodding at each other from a distance and sizing the other up in that way men so often do.

Meanwhile, Rey’s mind is whirring at a million miles an hour as she tries to piece everything together.

Because apparently _Kylo Ren_ is actually _Ben Solo_ , Leia’s son, and for the life of her, Rey cannot figure out why Leia never mentioned that her son was Snoke’s press secretary.  Surely she must have known Rey and Kylo would cross paths on the campaign trail.  Is it normal for political journalists to become (intimately) acquainted with press secretaries? Did she just assume that Kylo would have better things to do and that they would never cross paths?

The whole thing baffles her and leaves her completely uncertain on where she stands in all this.

“You two met?”

The question comes from Han.  Rey spins around to face him, and the flush that spreads across her cheeks is only exacerbated by the flames of the open fireplace as he looks between her and his son.

Heart rate rising, the vaguest, scrappiest explanation is trying desperately to form on the tip of Rey’s tongue when Kylo walks over and saves her the trouble by answering for her.

“Mom mentioned she had a guest coming for dinner.  Rey, was it?”

She nods mutely and then - when she finally musters up the courage to glance in his direction - she realises he’s holding a hand out for her to shake. 

Okay, so apparently they are going to pretend they don’t know each other, which is great, because Rey doesn’t know anyone named ‘Ben’ anyway, and maybe if she tries very, _very_ hard, she can also pretend that the man before her is a stranger - just her boss’s random son who she is meeting right now for the very first time - and definitely _not_ a man who has spent the better part of a night licking her to multiple orgasms.

God help her.

His ridiculously large hand is still extended, waiting for her to take it, but she finds herself stalling for some stupid reason.  It’s just a handshake, she reasons to herself.  She’s touched him in worse places.

 _Or better places_ , her traitorous mind suggests.

It's the closest he’s been to her since the last day she saw him.  Too close.  And it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere in a hurry.  Not unless she bites the bullet.

Without further delay, Rey thrusts her hand into his...

…and the whole world fades away.

Just like it always does.  No, just like it always _did_.

The feel of him, skin to skin, it brings memory after memory rushing to the surface of Rey’s mind, the sensations stemming from their touch so tragically familiar and forbidden at the same time.

It’s all too much.

She pulls back as if stung, the warmth of his fingertips lingering on her own like a fiery hot brand, and his own hand falls to his side not too long after, as if in slow motion.

Thankfully, the deed is done, and by some miracle Han must not have found anything amiss with his son’s answer or their behaviour, and hands Kylo his glass before turning back to Rey.

"Well, now that everyone's here and hydrated, I can continue my story.”  It takes Rey a minute to recollect that Han had been trying to tell a story before the doorbell had rung and changed her life forever.  It feels like an eternity ago; another life, a simpler time.  Clearly not for Han though, who carries on unperturbed as if merely a second has passed.  “So, Chewie and I had gotten ourselves into a bit of trouble with the Crimson Dawn when-"

“Jesus, Dad.  Don't tell me you're boring everyone half to death again with your Kessel Run story.”

Rey carefully keeps her eyes on Han, not daring to stray even for a second, and therefore witnesses Han throwing Kylo the filthiest of scowls. 

“Watch it, kid. Not everyone is lucky enough to grow up with an old man like yours. True brilliance is meant to be shared. Anyway, Rey, as I was saying-”

“She’s gonna need a stiff drink if you expect her to sit through that,” Kylo interjects once more, apparently not at all bothered by Han’s rising blood pressure.

“What are you, blind? She's already got a drink.”

Rey’s peripheral vision is on high alert as Kylo saunters over to her and casually leans over to inspect the contents of her glass. 

“So he’s got you on the house special too?  Call me crazy, but if I’d had to guess I would have picked you for more of a rum and coke kind of girl.”

Rey stiffens instantly, and more memories flood her mind - memories of _that night_ , the one that never happened, the one she doesn’t think of anymore, the one where they first… 

Once she manages to shake away the image of him pressing her up against the brick wall, she channels all her energy into glaring up at him with the fire of a thousand suns.

 _God_ , if she had her way he would die a slow, painful death this instant.  She thinks she might remember hearing about some mythical beast that could do that back in school.

“ _Rum and coke_?” Han repeats in disgust, bringing Rey back down to her present hell. “Jesus, Ben.  There’s no need to throw insults like that around.”

Han seems to take the heightened colour in Rey’s face as a sign that she is equally as offended by the suggestion that she favours that particular drink combination, because he turns back to her looking especially apologetic.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Rey. Ben has a funny sense of humour.”

“I'm just saying, not all girls like drinking straight, hard liquor, Dad; not all guys either for that matter.  There’s nothing wrong with adding a mixer,” Kylo says with a shrug.  “Last time I was here for Christmas you were trying your hand at cocktails.”

 “When _was_ the last time you made it to Christmas dinner, Ben?” Luke cuts in from the couch, his expression as salty as the ocean.  “Must've been at least five years ago.”

It is Kylo’s turn to stiffen, and Rey sneaks a quick look at him, watching as his jaw works before haughtily shooting back; “I've been busy.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.  I could have happily left it another five.”

“Luke!” Lando cries reproachfully beside him.

“ _What_?!”

Kylo spares his uncle one last glower before turning back to his father.

“I distinctly remember you playing around with different blends one Christmas.  One in particular was really good.  Which one was it again?”

“Whisky Sour?  Rusty Nail?  Old Fashioned?” Han offers, once again interested in the conversation now that it had returned to his favourite subject.

“No, none of those.  It had a distinct name - weirdly sexual.”

“Slippery Nipple?  Cock Sucking Cowboy? The Leg Spreader?” Lando chimes in helpfully from the couch.

“It was the one with the whisky, vodka, gin and orange juice?  Damn, what was it again?”  He strokes the short, dark stubble on his chin as if in deep thought, before having an _epiphany_ , his eyes snapping back to Rey and dancing with devilish mischief. “Oh yeah, I remember now; a _Slow Comfortable Screw Against a Wall_.”

He over-annunciates each word and Rey’s heart stops dead in her chest. 

Instantly the visual resurfaces, the same one from earlier, and it's almost like the name suggests, except from Rey’s recollection there was nothing slow or comfortable about it.

More like fast and rough; not that she had complained at the time…

“What do you think, Rey?” Kylo probes, eyeing her intently. “Does that sound good to you?”

 _It’s a_ _sarlacc_ , she realises out of the blue - a _sarlacc_ is the mythical beast that could swallow a person whole and slowly digest them over the course of a thousand years. 

If only she lived in a better universe where she could watch the bastard be swallowed whole by a _sarlacc_ …

“Ben,” Han interrupts abruptly, his forehead deeply creased with a frown, “you're thinking of a ‘Sloe Comfortable Screw’. It’s only ‘Against a Wall’ if you add Galliano – you know, like a ‘Harvey Wallbanger’ - and I’d be caught dead before keeping that sugary shi- I mean… _stuff,_ in my house.” 

Han throws Rey a nervous glance at the near slip of a curse word, but he needn’t have bothered, because she isn’t looking at him.

She is busy glaring daggers at Kylo, who still hasn’t torn his own eyes from her. 

“ _Oops_ ,” he says, his sly, shit-eating grin proudly on display.  “My mistake.”

Yeah, a thousand years in the digestive tract of a _sarlacc_ is still too good for him. 

Better make it _ten_ thousand.

Han’s voice continues to chatter on in the background.

“-besides, Rey said she likes bourbon.  Stop complicating things, Ben, and let me get on with the story.  So the Crimson Dawn-”

Just as Rey is weighing up the pros and cons of committing murder in a room filled with four strangers related to her intended victim (Lando, Chewie and Han complicate matters, but she figures Luke might back her up if she needs to testify it was an accident) a loud, prolonged clang could be heard from somewhere down the hall, followed by an equally loud, emphatic string of curse words spoken in her editor's 'print day voice'.

It couldn’t have come at a better time, and Rey, seeing a golden opportunity, seizes it with all haste.

"You know, I should really go see if Leia needs a hand in the kitchen," she tells the room at large, avoiding eye contact with everyone as she all but sprints out of there, ignoring the dark, piercing eyes burning holes in the back of her head as she goes.

><><><><>< 

_ Five Months Ago _

In the end, they called the Hosnian tour a draw.

Kylo had effortlessly deflected the negative publicity drawn from Rey’s first article as if merely batting away a fly, and Snoke had quickly recovered his one point loss.

Rey won the next tour, after Snoke slipped up during a rally and Rey got the perfect quote to headline her scathing article that saw him sink seven points in the polls.  Kylo had to fire one of his speechwriters for that one, and Rey had given him the biggest shit-eating grin when he’d finally emerged from his scolding from Snoke.

Unfortunately, the third tour didn’t go quite so well.

The fourteen day campaign around the Illeenium System started off well enough, with Rey still revelling in the spoils of her ‘ _Starkiller Snuffs Snoke_ ’ article.  Snoke couldn’t hold a press conference without facing a barrage of questions about the _Starkiller_ scheme that was alluded to for months but never actually confirmed by his administration until the Tuesday prior.  The scheme, which boasted policies that bordered on crimes against humanity, had only ever been glossed over in public, until Snoke casually referred to one of the plan’s more prickly points in passing.

As such, Rey enjoyed roughly a week of desperate scrambling from the First Order factions before they – meaning _Ren_ – came up with an ingenious recovery.

To Rey’s immense horror, her main source for the _Starkiller_ article - a man called DJ who provided the majority of her quotes for the pitfalls of the scheme and strongly opposed the Snoke administration – was front and centre at Snoke’s first press conference in D’Qar.  Apparently he’d had a ‘change of heart’, and most of the event was spent with the two highlighting the benefits of the plan and the various ways it had been misconstrued by the public.

Rey’s blood was boiling from the get go, so having to sit through the full forty minutes was excruciating, especially when she spotted Ren off to the side of the stage, standing with his arms crossed and sporting the most self-satisfied of smirks.  She was sure she even saw him wink at her.

Needless to say, it was a tough morning and an even tougher afternoon as questions started rolling in about the legitimacy of her article.

Maybe that’s why Rey was three and a quarter rum and coke’s deep when Ren showed up at the dingy D’Qar pub.  Apparently he came from celebratory drinks elsewhere, because he wasn’t a vision of sobriety either, although he at least had a jovial buzz going compared to Rey’s sullen inebriation.

The second she saw him from her seat at the bar she turned on him.

“What did you do?” she demanded, getting right in his face.  “How did you get him to turn?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ren replied, smiling brightly.

“As if!  Just be honest; was it bribery or blackmail?”

“Careful, amateur,” he warned, though she could tell he was still enjoying this. “That’s a defamatory accusation."

“It’s only defamation if it isn’t true.”

“ _All’s fair_ , Niima.  Even a rookie like you should know that.  Just take the defeat graciously.  No one likes a sore loser.”

The anger waging war within her all day finally bubbled to the surface and spilled over like molten lava.  Without even thinking about it, Rey snatched up her glass and threw the remaining contents of her drink in Ren’s face, watching as it dripped down, staining his pristine white shirt.

That was certainly one way to remove his smug smirk.

“You’re a monster,” she hissed up at him as he blinked drops of the amber coloured liquid from his eyes.

His face turned from glee, to shock, to fury in the blink of an eye, and even through her alcoholic haze, Rey knew she had gone too far.  Not wanting to wait around for the consequences of swilling the president’s press secretary, she dumped the empty tumbler on the counter and stormed out of the pub.

She didn’t get far.

She’d barely made it past the shopfront when an enormous hand grabbed her by the wrist and spun her round, and once again she was face to face with Kylo Ren – no longer the diplomatic, arrogant politician.  No, he was now transformed into a fuming, hulking beast of a man, and it took her a moment to catch her breath.

He unceremoniously tugged her back, and before she knew it, he’d dragged the two of them into a dark side alley that backed onto the pub. 

It was a balmy night, and the thin denier of her flesh toned tights clung uncomfortably to the skin on her legs.  For once she wished she’d forgone that aspect of her usual ‘work uniform’ and had been bare under her knee-length pencil skirt.  She felt ready to overheat; probably a combination of the weather, her alcohol consumption and her outfit choices, and not at all helped by her inner rage.

She wretched her arm from his grasp and hardened herself against him.

“How could you do it?” she screamed at him, trying desperately to ignore the low thrum of something that had started low in her belly.  “You _know_ Snoke’s _Starkiller_ scheme will ruin so many lives!  How could you go along with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he yelled back as he struggled to keep his own temper in check.  “You've already made it clear you think me nothing more than a monster.”

“You _are_ a monster.”

Her words were like a clap of thunder, and the hush that followed felt akin to the deadly calm found in the eye of a storm.

Deafening silence echoed in the dark alleyway, and she felt hyper-sensitised to everything around her.  Her chest heaved with emotion as she glared up at him, and was shocked to find something other than anger bleeding through his eyes.

Hurt.

She’d _hurt_ him.  _Him_.  The great Kylo Ren.

The realisation gave her pause.

Seeing him strangely vulnerable did something to her. It had her instantly questioning everything; everything she ever knew, every thought she’d ever had about him.  He was such a force of nature, she’d thought so long before they even met, back when she used to watch him on the nightly news.  He was larger than life, impenetrable, unstoppable.

But she’d hurt him.

 _She_ had.  Rey. Little, inconsequential Rey Niima, who’d spent most of her life being told she’d never amount to anything.

She’d had an effect on this man, this great man, all power and prestige, a man with the world at his feet.  She’d gotten to him. 

The vulnerability in his eyes didn’t last long enough for her to feel guilty, because before she knew it, it had morphed into something else; something darker, something almost predatory.

She sensed the change immediately, even her alcohol dulled reflexes sharp enough to raise her hackles and put her on the alert, but before she could react, he was stalking towards her, all ridiculous height and broad shoulders and features that looked even darker in the shadows, and then he’d completely closed the distance between them, planting his hands on either side of her against the brick wall, caging her in.

“Yes, I am.”

The words came out as little more than a whisper, and he spoke them with a mixture of passion and violence that completely captivated her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his full bottom lip, quivering ever so slightly as his eyes bore into hers.

Panting hard, she struggled against the churning emotions swirling in her own belly.  Anger and frustration bled seamlessly into something else; something that had been building for days, weeks even.  Some little feeling that stirred every time they saw each other, over the countless times they tried to one-up the other, through sassy quips and fiery exchanges and long, charged looks.

Suddenly it felt like it was all bubbling over.

It was too much.  He was too close.

She should push him away.

She could; it would be easy.  She had two hands.  She could re-establish their carefully drawn boundaries that he had unceremoniously crossed.

She could.

She _should_.

She didn’t.

Because her hands were moving, but they weren’t pushing him away. 

No, instead they were threading themselves traitorously into his silky hair and pulling him even closer, the last of the space between them evaporating as she brought his lips crashing down onto hers.

Rey felt him tense for a second, but in the blink of an eye he was kissing her back, pushing her further into the coarse bricks under the pressure of his hulking frame.  Her hands moved from his hair to his shoulders, grasping at the solid muscle she felt through the thin material of his shirt.

She’d regret this later; she just knew it. She couldn’t quite bring herself to care now though, and instead, lost herself in the moment and the freedom of being able to finally touch him wherever she wanted.

His lips were crushing against hers; positively bruising, as if he was trying to make her pay for every nasty comment, every hurdle he’d encountered by her actions.  But then he would lick the pain away with soft flicks of his tongue, soothing every spot he marked with utter reverence.

She drew his bottom lip – the one she was developing an unhealthy obsession with – in between her teeth and nipped until he growled.  He thrust her back again further into the wall and dipped lower to suck on the soft skin at the junction between her neck and shoulder, making her eyes roll back.

Wedged between two walls; one of brick and mortar, and one of muscle and skin.

It felt so right somehow, like she was right where she needed to be. 

Before she knew what was happening, he was jostling her around until one of his large thighs was pressed firmly between her own, the sudden contact sending pleasure coursing straight to her core.  Using her new found leverage, she ground down on his pant leg, searching for more of that delicious friction, bucking her hips up and down over the coarse layers of fabric.

“I'm gonna fuck you, right here, against this wall,” he grunted into her ear, his voice as rough as the bricks that grazed her back as he slid her skirt higher up her thighs.  “If that's not something you want, you’d better tell me right now.”

Her pride wouldn’t allow her to respond, so she egged him on with her hands instead; small, nimble fingers deftly undoing the clasp on his pants and unzipping him.  Another few tugs and he was free, jutting out hard and proud in the warm summer air, and she drank in the mouth-watering sight of him.

She palmed him with one small hand that couldn’t quite wrap all the way around his thick length, the smooth skin burning hot in her own.

With a low growl, he pushed her hand away and yanked her skirt the rest of the way up until it was bunched up at her waist.  He snarled again when he caught sight of her sheer tights, and made her gasp when he wrenched one enormous hand down between her parted legs and tore the flimsy silk open from crotch to mid-thigh.

"You ruined my tights," she huffed in his ear, even as he hitched her legs around his waist and pushed her panties to the side.

"Yeah well, you ruined my shirt.  I think we're even, sweetheart."

She had a smart retort on the tip of her tongue, but it was lost when he lined himself up at her entrance and plunged into her in one long stroke. 

She was already dripping wet and her body gave into him with an ease she didn’t expect given how long it had been.  Still, once he was fully seated in her she needed a minute to catch her breath. 

Rey couldn’t remember ever feeling so full, so wonderfully stretched.  It looked like he needed a moment too, because he stilled inside her and their eyes met again. 

She wondered if this felt as good for him as it did for her.  The awe reflected back at her in his gaze told her it might.  It was almost reverent.

Except that’s not what this was.

This wasn’t supposed to be gentle lovemaking.  He’d promised a hard fuck against the wall.  No feelings, no kindness – just pure, physical relief from this ever building tension.  If that’s all this was, maybe she’d be okay.

Wanting to put a swift end to the soft moment and spur him on, she kicked his backside with her heels and bit down hard on his shoulder through his shirt.

“Go on, then,” she hissed into the junction of his neck.  “Fuck me.”

It was all the motivation he needed.  As he pounded her into the wall, hard and frantic, the alleyway filled with the sounds of their bodies slapping together and their low, muttered curses and heavy breathing.

His hands seemed to be everywhere; one gripping her ass hard enough to leave handprints whilst the other palmed her breast, teasing her nipple stiff through her blouse.  Finally the hand at her breast moved lower, slipping between her legs to rub her clit. 

The pressure continued to build under his merciless ministrations, and all too soon - so much sooner than normal - she was close to falling over the edge.

All pride escaped her in the moment, her body completely taking over, and – though she’d never admit it in the harsh light of day - she found herself moaning – no; _begging_.

“Please, Ren.  _Please_.”

She didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but somehow he did, because his thrusts sped up and he snapped his hips into hers with a vengeance she barely believed was possible until…

Rey came with an intensity that consumed her, flooding her veins with pleasure and blanking her mind of all conscious thought as she pulsed and clenched around him. 

He was right behind her, following her over with the curse of her name and an almighty howl, and Rey let out a satisfied sigh as she felt him fill her to the brim with his hot cum.

They stood there in the aftermath, clutching at each other as their breathing steadied and their feet returned to earth.

When her senses finally returned and her brain rebooted, she stiffened against him.

He must have felt it, because he did the same, pulling back to look at her. 

It was too much. 

He stared down at her in utter shock and bewilderment at what they’d just done, and she could only assume that the same expression was mirrored in her own face.

Because… _fuck_.

"Rey, I-"

"Don’t!  Don’t say anything."

_What the fuck had she done?_

She’d _fucked_ him. Kylo Ren; Snoke’s right hand man.  He was someone she had to work with on a daily basis.  Someone she detested. 

She pushed him away and pulled her skirt back down.  Swallowing hard, she looked up at him with renewed steel in her eyes.

"This never happened."

Rey left first, before he could reply, or move, or do anything else that might make this whole situation even worse.

Halfway back to the motel, she decided that pretending it never happened in the first place was her best option, and Rey quickly resolved to put the whole mess behind her as swiftly as possible.

She threw her tights in the trash the second she got back to her crummy motel room, disposing of the only evidence on her that their tryst had ever occurred in the first place.

There was, of course, the throbbing between her legs, that tell-tale sign that she’d been well ridden, but she could ignore that too, for the most part anyway.

And she would have to wear one of her higher collared shirts for the next few days, until the bite marks on her neck faded to the point where they could pass for her just being incompetent with a hair iron.

Then, of course, there was the mess between her thighs, the sticky wetness that had slowly seeped down her legs in the mad rush back to her motel room, reminding her the whole time how immensely stupid they’d been.  She was on the pill, but still… unbelievably, incredibly _stupid_ was the only word for it.

Okay, so maybe there wasn’t any way to deny that it had happened.  But she could make sure it never happened again.

It was just a stupid, crazy, senseless moment of complete insanity - a one-time thing.  Rey always learned from her mistakes, and she would make sure this one was never repeated.

Never again would he be inside her, no matter how good it felt, no matter how badly she wanted it.  It simply wasn’t worth it.

Over the next days, it became a near constant affirmation.  

 _Never again_ , she chanted on repeat every time she saw him.

Even when dark eyes met hers from across crowded rooms, hot and intense, and almost... imploring, and Rey found she simply couldn’t look away.

 _Never again_ , she repeated to herself like a prayer. Like a promise.

Never again. Never ever, _ever_.

><><><><>< 

In the end, _‘never again’_ wasn’t quite that final.

In the end, Rey never even made it a week.

In the end, _'never again'_ was actually four days, twenty hours and thirty three minutes.


	3. Just Stir the Gravy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Asking and begging – it always had been a game of his~
> 
> Ben corners Rey in the kitchen. More flashback smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge break between chapters, guys! If you don’t read my other fic, [Suits and Stilettos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484449/chapters/35945754), I’ve had a baby this year and life is HECTIC!  This story will be finished though, just probably not overnight.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Rey follows the trail of smoke and despair to a spacious yet dishevelled kitchen that closely resembles a bomb site.

She can just make out the tip of Leia's Santa hat peeping up over the bench from where she is sitting on the floor scooping up a pile of fallen saucepans.  Rey crouches beside her editor and helps her restore the runaway pans to their rightful place on the bench.

“Thank you, Rey.  Sorry for the noise; I think the others are used to it.  I’ve always had a knack for magnetically repelling kitchen goods.”

“It’s no problem,” Rey replies. “Can I help with anything else?”

“Well…” Leia starts, hesitantly looking around the room, as if torn between putting her guest to work and accepting some much needed assistance.  “You could stir the gravy?”

Rey nods immediately and makes her way over to the pan of congealed brown sludge, careful to keep her face blank of the growing apprehension she now feels towards their upcoming meal. 

Truthfully, Rey isn’t much of a cook either, so she has little idea of what to do with the gravy other than bouts of vigorous stirring.  Where’s Finn when you need him – he’d have saved it in two seconds flat.

Still, at least she now has something to occupy her attention; something to control, something to fix.  Anything is better than the mess waiting for her in the other room.

Except, the mess from the other room is apparently set on following her throughout the house, because she’s there less than a minute when Kylo comes strolling into the kitchen.

“Ah, Ben, you made it!” Leia smiles through the cloud of steam emanating from the open oven door as she checks its contents, and then she’s abandoned her station to give her son a kiss – one he needs to bend down for, but graciously does with a soft smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he says, before casting a wary eye around the room.  “How’s the cooking going?”

“Oh, about as well as usual,” Leia says with the flourishing whip of a dish cloth.

He grimaces slightly, before his eyes fall on Rey.

“At least you have help this year.”

Leia looks over at Rey and starts.

“Oh yes, where are my manners.  Ben, let me introduce one of my best political correspondents-”

“Dad already did the introductions,” Kylo interposes, stepping towards Rey before adding, “It was Rey, right?”

“That’s right,” she manages through gritted teeth as she beats the lumpy gravy.  When she imagines his face swimming in there, it’s oddly therapeutic.

“Actually, Ben, since you’re here, perhaps you can take over tossing the vegetables for me whilst I finish prepping the table?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies smoothly. 

Rey, on the other hand, is left gaping like a goldfish at the sudden, horrible turn of events, because Leia plants another quick kiss on her son’s cheek before hightailing it out of the room, leaving the two of them alone…

Exactly where she didn’t want to be.

Maybe if she just keeps stirring the gravy, he’ll leave her alone.  She just needs to ignore him, focus all her attention on the gravy.  He’s not a complete idiot, surely he’ll get the message eventually.

_Focus, Rey._

_Just stir the gravy, Rey._

_Don’t look at the tall, handsome, infuriating man, Rey._

She’s fighting a losing battle though; hardly surprising since she’s never put much faith in the power of positive thinking.  He appears as unperturbed as ever, and as he wanders over to stand right beside her, she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

“Hello again,” he rumbles in that deep voice of his that sends a jolt straight to her core.

Swallowing audibly, she glowers up at him.

“The name’s Rey.”

“I know,” he smiles, and it doesn’t affect her.  It _doesn’t_.

“Oh good, I wasn’t sure, since you seem to be having random spurts of amnesia.”

He chuckles next to her and dips a finger into her gravy, which she promptly swats away with her wooden spoon.

“You’re supposed to be checking the vegetables!”

“They’re already burnt,” he replies as he licks the gravy off his finger and Rey does her best _not_ to watch.

“You haven’t even looked.”

“Trust me, I don’t need to.  Everything in this kitchen is burnt.”  Kylo meanders over to the side where her Christmas tree cookies sit and presents one to her.  “See – Exhibit A.”

“Hey, I made those, you jerk!” She thwacks him again with the spoon, on his bicep this time.  His thick, bulging bicep.

_Dear lord._

He looks down at the offending cookie and back at her.

“Really?  Fuck.”  He takes a bite out of the top of the cookie and grimaces.  "Are all you reporters terrible at cooking?"

"Oi, there’s nothing wrong with my cookies, thank you very much!"

"They’re as hard as rocks…" He helpfully demonstrates by banging what’s left of it on the marble counter a couple of times.

"Great, then they’ll be perfect for throwing at your head!"

"Wouldn’t be the first time you threw something at me."

"It won't be the last either, at the rate you're going."

He smiles and finally heads over to the oven to check on the vegetables, plumes of black smoke emerging as soon as he opens the door along with more of that bitter char smell, but he merely sighs and uses an oven mitt to remove the offending dish from the heat.

Rey is suddenly struck with how little she really knows about this man.  They’ve shared so many intimate moments, he’s done things to her she’s never let anyone else even think about, and yet apparently she is completely in the dark when it comes to the basics, the simple things you normally learn first and foremost about a person.  Things like his _real_ name, his relations, his cooking abilities.  So many other things, too.

But she does know some things…

She had learnt very early on that he is a tough man to surprise.  She had managed to get the upper hand on him once – during their first meeting – but he hadn’t been so easy to fool again.  And when he was genuinely shocked, she could tell.

He didn’t looked shocked tonight though…

“Did you- did you know I was going to be here?”

“Perhaps…”  She continues to eyeball him with her arms crossed until he turns back to her and shrugs.  “Mom might have mentioned the new addition to the guest list when I spoke to her yesterday.”

Of course she had.  And of course, he would have known who _she_ was, even if she had been oblivious to his true identity.  Hell, he’d probably known his mother was her editor from the second he caught sight of her nametag that fateful first day of the Hosnian tour.

The thought leads to another realisation, and Rey’s gut clenches as she thinks about her boss.

“Does she…”

Kylo gives her a long, measured look before conceding, “No, she doesn’t know about... _us_.  Hence the spurts of amnesia.”

 _I wish I had amnesia_ , Rey thinks grimly.

A resounding crunch echoes through the kitchen as he takes another bite of her cookie.

The smirk he shoots her makes her suddenly determined to prove that she _can_ successfully cook something, and the gravy seems as good a place as any to start.  She’s gonna make this the best damn gravy anyone has ever tasted, and then she’s gonna drown him in it.

Rey dips her finger in the current mixture.  It’s lacking something, and the first thing she thinks of to add is butter.  Butter makes everything better, right?

She walks across the kitchen to the fridge to retrieve the butter, but can’t quite make her way back to her pot, as Kylo’s broad frame is now completely blocking the passageway between the counter and the wall.

He always did _love_ getting in her way.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, inwardly cursing herself for her instinctive politeness. 

It only makes him grin wider.

“Move it, Ren,” she tries again with a scowl and a firm push to one solid pectoral that she immediately regrets.

“It’s Ben, remember,” he purrs in her ear, sending another shiver down her spine.

And he’s smirking, as if he knows.

 _Jerkface_.

She crosses her arms with a huff.

“Why are you here, _Ren_?” she asks, and to her annoyance, he just shrugs again.

“I thought that much was obvious.”

“If you came here to see me, you really shouldn’t have bothered because _I_ don’t want to see _you_.”

“Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

He rolls his eyes and has the gall to brush a stray hair off her face.

“You always were such a liar.”

“And you always were such an _asshole_ ,” she tells him, batting his hand away.

“Hey, we both made mistakes.”

She lets out a humourless laugh at that.

“I'm not denying that; every decision I made regarding you was a mistake.”

“Even the last one?” he asks quietly.

“ _Especially_ the last one.  It was way too long in the making.  I should have put an end to it before it even began.”

For a moment, hurt flickers in his eyes, and she feels one of those pangs of instant remorse at the thought of actually offending him.  But it fades fast, quickly replaced by his usual look of determination, and then he’s walking over to her until he’s so close that she could stand on her tippy toes and lick that little beauty mark he has just under his eye. 

“That wouldn't have been nearly as much fun, Rey.”

His low, silky words penetrate straight to the junction between her legs that he has claimed so many times, a place he once called _his_ – something she hadn’t bothered correcting at the time, so lost in a haze of lust as she’d been.

“You know,” he continues in that low, sultry tone, “if you'd really wanted it to end sooner, you should have just said so.  But then you always were bad at asking for what you want.”

Her cheeks flush pink as more memories flood her mind. 

Asking and begging.

It always had been a game of his.

“You’re right. I should have.”  Her voice sounds annoyingly thin.

“Mmm.  See the thing is, I don’t think that’s what you wanted at all.”

Rey swallows hard against the lump forming in her throat and wills her heart to stop racing as his head dips, bringing him even closer.

“No?  What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch,” he smiles, and it all but destroys her.

“You've been wrong before.”

“Not about this.”

They’re both whispering now, and she can’t pull her eyes away from that smug little smile of his.  It pulls his lips in such a familiar way, a way that used to spell disaster for her, indicating that he had somehow bested her, but it eventually became something she felt belonged to her, and her alone.  Eventually, it made her heart warm and her thighs quiver.

Apparently it still has that effect…

It’s not her fault.  She’s put up a brave defence.  She had tried – hard – to fend him off.

But he’s here.  Here, on Christmas, after so many nights alone, looking so good and smelling so good and standing so, _so_ close, close enough to-

“There you guys are!”

It’s Han. 

Because _of course_ it is.

He appears in the doorway to the kitchen as if he has travelled there by instant transmission, sending Rey crashing back to reality, and she jumps away from Kylo like she’s received an electric shock, desperate to re-establish some space between them.

“I was wondering where you’d both gotten to.  I hadn’t finished my story.” 

Han joins them in the kitchen, glass still in hand and looking far more empty than it had been when she’d last seen him. 

Kylo, for his part, looks equally torn between annoyance at the interruption and amusement at her reaction.

But Rey isn’t annoyed at the interruption. 

No, Rey is _thankful,_ because, oh yeah – getting cosy with this guy in her editor’s kitchen is literally the worst idea she’s had since she stumbled into bed with him in the first place.

She tries to discretely edge back towards her pot of gravy on the stovetop, but there’s still a giant, sexy obstruction to deal with.

“Sorry, Han.  I was just giving Leia a hand with dinner.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have bothered with that. Dinner’s always awful,” Han declares, and then tips his tumbler at her. “That’s why we drink.”

She blinks at him, and then at Kylo, who does a terrible job of concealing his grin behind one hand and just shrugs at her.

“I don’t think that’s very fair.  Leia worked very hard on this dinner and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Han interjects with a dismissive wave.  “Don’t worry, we always eat it.  Anyway, I was just getting to the good part of my story…  So, to pay off the debt of a buddy of mine, the leader of the Crimson Dawn wanted us to-”

_“-Rey, could you bring me the box of napkins on the bench?-”_

Leia’s voice rings loud and clear from the dining room next door, and Rey jumps at the chance to escape again. 

Spotting the container of cloth napkins, she practically lunges for them, abandoning her task of making the perfect gravy to swipe them up and bolt for the kitchen door.

Kylo’s still blocking the way, but they aren’t alone anymore, so he finally steps aside _just_ enough for her to slip past him, but not quite enough that she could do so without _grazing_ him.  She does so with as much dignity as she can muster, avoiding his gaze as he smirks down at her with dark, mischievous eyes and ignoring the way her skin catches fire in every spot that comes into contact with him.

Maybe Han would force him to listen to the rest of his story in her absence.

That ought to wipe the stupid grin off his face. 

><><><><>< 

_ Four Months Ago _

It became a sort of game, this thing between them.

Their days went on as before, trying to outdo each other at every turn.  But the aftermath was completely different, because in this new game, the losing party would become the initiator of something else.

Something else entirely.

Namely, some incredibly hot, sweaty, angry hate sex.

On the days where Rey won, Kylo would show up at her crappy hotel room and fuck her into the low thread-count sheets. 

On the days where Kylo won, Rey would barge into his office, lock the door and climb him until she had expelled all her energy and some of her frustration.

The loser was the aggressor, furious and demanding and unrelenting, and the winner would happily concede, since they had already been victorious in other ways.

The second Wednesday of the Yavin tour was a little different.

Rey only went to his hotel room to gloat.  That's what she told herself anyway.

She’d never _had_ to seek him out before.  He always found her after she bested him, keen to punish her with his hands and mouth and cock, and she’d let him, because she was a good sport like that.

Except, she had definitely won that day – what, with her killer exposé on Snoke’s extremist past – and yet, there had been no knock on her door that evening.  She’d waited patiently, and then not so patiently, and by eleven it had been clear he wasn’t coming, and she really shouldn’t care…

Except she did.

Only because she hadn’t had the chance to rub it in, of course.  But still, it wasn’t fair.  He was messing up their game. 

She had to rectify that.

Rey had never been to his room before.  It took undoing the top few buttons of her blouse and some of her best investigative work to discover his room number, but once she had it, she was knocking on his door in under five minutes.

He was still in his work suit, and if she’d been worried that he might be unhappy to see her, she needn’t have bothered, because the surprise on his face when he opened the door quickly melted into that wicked smile of his as he swung the door wide for her.

“Hello, amateur.”

She rolled her eyes at his nickname for her – which definitely wasn’t uttered fondly enough to be considered a pet name, no sir – and stepped inside.

Neither of them were fond of wasting time, so there wasn’t much talking whilst they clawed at each other, shredding unwanted layers of clothing until they could see and touch and feel unhindered. Not until he had her on the bed completely naked and trapped beneath him, which was unnecessary seeing as she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else anyway.

“ _You came to me_ ,” she thought that was what he murmured against her as he nipped at the underside of her breast, but then she could have just been hallucinating from the sheer pleasure of his mouth on her skin.  That talented tongue of his worked its way up to the perky, pink tip, swirling around her pebbled bud until she was clutching at his silky hair, doing her best to hang on for dear life.

It was always like this; in his bed.  Kylo went after what he wanted without restraint; deliberate, demanding and unapologetic.  It was a little embarrassing; how much she liked it.

It was… _exhilarating_. 

The way he wanted her. 

On the days when she’d won, he was relentless in his pursuit, chasing her climax with a reckless abandon that pushed her closer at the mere thought.  He’d push her, test her limits, pound and pump and pummel her until she begged for mercy.  He’d force her to the edge over and over, drive her to orgasm after orgasm, and only when she was sure she couldn’t handle another minute, only when she was a shaky, blubbering mess… would he finally let go.

It was the most incredible form of torture she could ever imagine.

It was clearly _not_ what was happening tonight, though.

Tonight was… slow.  He was almost lazy, like he was taking his time, savouring every moment, every touch, every gasp he could elicit from her.  He hadn’t even fully undressed himself – his cock still hidden from her in his boxer-briefs.

This was its own form of torture.  Different from the rough, unruly passion he usually subjected her to, and yet just as exquisite.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he commanded as he bit lightly at her nipple, making her moan.  His fingers – those long, strong fingers of his – skimmed her ribcage, then dipped into her bellybutton before travelling just slightly lower, settling on the soft skin of her belly.  “What do you want me to do to you?”

What _didn’t_ she want him to do to her? 

She’d have been happy with a myriad of things.  Him on top.  Her on top.  Bent over something with him behind was good as well.  Pretty much anything that resulted in him pounding into her until she actually feared for her ability to move the next day. 

Right now, though, she just wanted him to move lower.

“Go on… Tell me.”

It was a command.

She wasn’t biting.

His tongue was still making her lightheaded at her breast when she raked both hands through his hair and tried to push his head down, closer to where she wanted it, but he didn’t budge.  No, to her dismay, her efforts only made him pull away, and in her mind she cried because he was heading in the _wrong direction_ , and then he looked up at her with such a smug look on his face that she should have just left right then if she possessed any willpower at all.

“Why are you so afraid to ask for what you want?”

Inky black curls fell over his wicked left eye that gleamed with victory and _god_ , he was such a perfect mixture of angel and devil that it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m not afraid.”

Rey Niima was many things, but she was _not_ afraid of a smarmy wanker like Kylo Ren.  Not even if he made her feel things she’d never felt before, physically or… otherwise…

The look he gave her positively reeked of skepticism.

“Okay, then tell me.”  His hand - which was still resting on her abdomen – twitched, as if to remind her of its presence, like she could forget.  “What do you want, Rey?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to answer with some outrageous lie like; _for you to get off me_ , just so she could try to regain some semblance of control of this situation, but suddenly his hand was on the move again, and this time it continued down, down, to hover between her thighs, and the last dregs of her control evaporated as her whole body tensed in anticipation. 

“Do you want me to touch you?”

_Damn him._

His voice was so deep she could feel it more than hear it.  It reverberated from the place where his mouth hovered over her and penetrated straight to her core, making her wet. 

Well, wetter than she already was.

Somehow she found herself nodding in spite of herself - way too eagerly.

“I think I want to hear you say it.”

_Damn him and his gorgeous hair and his wicked, wicked mouth._

“I'm not going to beg you,” she told him.

“Then I'm not going to touch you.”

_Damn him and his ridiculous body and his talented, talented fingers._

Fingers that were so close and yet so far from where they needed to be.  They were barely inches away, feather light on her mound, and her clit hummed with need at the promise. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

She needed them lower.  And moving.  With more pressure. 

She needed it badly.

It was making it hard to think. 

He was winning this.  And really, that was how it should be.  She won the day, so he got to claim victory of the night – that was their game.  But tonight, she felt like she’d already lost, just by coming here.  She couldn’t give too much more away without getting something back.

It wasn’t fair.

“Fuck you,” she hissed, even as her hips inched off the bed in a vain struggle to get his hand closer to where she wanted it.

The asshole just sniggered and pulled his hand away completely.

“That’s it; now we're getting somewhere.  You verbalized what you want.  Was that so hard?”

“Hard like your head,” she muttered darkly, falling back on the bed with a frustrated huff.

“Which one?”  Quick as a flash, he grabbed her hand and pulled it down to cover the thick bulge in his boxers.  “This one?”

Rey moaned as she felt what she wanted, hot and hard, palming it through the fabric.

“Is this what you want, Rey?”

Oh god.

“ _Yes_.”

The word slipped from her mouth as a moan, completely of its own volition.

“Then you know what you have to do.”

_Shit._

How could he sound so calm at a time like this?

 _Of course_ she knew what he wanted her to do.  That didn’t mean she wanted to do it.

But then, the alternative was hardly appealing either.  To _not_ have him, to be denied.  She’d have her pride, but she wouldn’t get what she really wanted.

It made her want to scream in frustration.

_Damn him and his stupid game and his perfect, perfect-_

“I want… your cock.”

Her jaw was clenched so tight it hurt, but she’d done it, she’d given in, and now she’d be rewarded.  Except once he removed his boxers, to her dismay, instead of finally _giving it_ to her…

He just smirked.

In victory.

Like a smug bastard.

And it only made her want him more.

Because she was an idiot.

“Any place in particular?” he asked through his smile, and she glared up at him, unsure whether she should strangle him or straddle him and not take no for an answer.

“You _know_ where.”

“I'd still like to hear it.”

_Damn it all to hell._

“Inside me,” Rey ground out through gritted teeth.

“Inside you... where?”

_The vile, teasing, dishonorable cretin._

She didn’t want to say it. She couldn't say it out loud.  She _wouldn’t_.

No matter how good it would feel.

This was it.  This was their stalemate.  She’d have to leave, unsatisfied.  He’d wound her up so tight she was ready to burst and now she’d have to spend the rest of the night trying to work out her frustrations alone.

Thankfully, he finally took pity on her.

“Do you want me inside your cunt, Rey?”

Oh _god_.

His voice was molten metal; debauched, _oozing_ with sex and it sent a shock of electric pleasure straight to her centre. 

“ _Yes_.”

He moved, and she spread her legs, and then he was right there.  In line.  One push would do it.  He was so close, and yet, so, so, _so_ unbearably far.

Was it possible to die from being so turned on?

Rey was starting to think so.

“Even though you despise me?”

His lips captured the delicate, sensitive skin on her neck and sucked, and it was impossible to even _think_.

“Yes…”

“Why?”

He eyed her intensely, watching her with that dark, piercing gaze that penetrated to her very soul, making her squirm.   He could be so direct sometimes, so demanding, but surely now wasn’t the time for _this_ chat.

She tried to brush it off.

“You know that, too.”

“I might,” he conceded, the hand holding his cock edging it a little closer, but still not _quite_ there. “But as we've already established, I want to hear it.”

What did he expect her to say?

That she wanted to fuck him because it was so _deliciously_ _naughty_ to be bad for a change, to do something so forbidden with someone _so_ off limits, someone so completely and utterly wrong for her. 

Did he want her to admit that she couldn’t stop thinking about him? That she fantasized about his cock more than could be considered proper in any kind of polite circles?  That it drove her to distraction, causing her to lose her train of thought in the middle of press conferences on a regular basis because she was too busy imagining him pressing into _her_ instead?

She couldn’t possibly tell him any of that.

But maybe she could tell a half truth.

“I want to feel good.”

Hell, it probably was more like a quarter truth, since there was quite a lot of the picture she was concealing with that answer, but the words in themselves weren't a lie.  She wanted to feel good, and he _made_ her feel good.

Too good.

“And my cock makes you feel good?”

It nudged her entrance, and she groaned in frustration, the last of her patience dwindling.

“You _know_ it does.”

“I do now.”

And with that, he pushed into her, stretching her open, filling her up in with his length that way she’d never experienced before him, and probably never would again.

The time for teasing was over, apparently.  He was brutal now, urgent; furiously thrusting his hips down and into her, over and over, until she couldn’t breathe.

“You like that?” he growled into her ear while maintaining his punishing pace, the loud, smacking sounds of his pounding echoing in her ears.

“S’okay,” she gasped even as her eyes rolled into the back of her head in ecstasy.

“Just okay?”

She tried to hum in the affirmative, but it came out as more of a moan, long and throaty.

“Maybe I should stop.  I wouldn’t want you to suffer through a fucking that is just ‘ _okay'_.”

She tightened her legs around him in response, her thighs wrapping him in a vice grip so he couldn't remove himself even if he wanted to.

“You talk too much,” she grumbled in between pants and he chuckled again, the noise low in his throat.

“And you lie too much.” 

It came out as a purr against her collarbone, making her shiver.

The sounds they were making were _obscene_ ; all lurid slapping and sopping wet squelching.  Her cheeks felt heated, but whether it was from that or the allegation or just pure physical exertion, she didn’t know.

“Not lying,” she hissed back.

“You sure about that?” 

He drove into her again, a flurry of hard pumps in quick succession and she pulled him closer, her nails digging into his shoulder blades.  

She wanted to mark him, brand him with her personal touch.  It was a stupid thing to do with a temporary fling - the height of denial - but she wanted to none the less.  She _craved_ it. 

It was always like this.  With them.

She felt desperate, like she couldn’t ever get enough of him.  He would give her so much, too much, and yet as soon as it was over, she wanted more.

It was terrifying. 

“Your mouth might lie, Rey,” he panted, his breath hot on her skin, “but your body doesn't.  Your body _sings_ for me.”

Oh _god!_

“It doesn’t…”

Except it _did_.

He knew just what to do, just how to move to push her to the brink. 

Lifting her ass higher, he adjusted the angle between them, and although it had felt incredible before, the new position _really_ hit the spot…

Kylo gripped her thighs and pushed them higher, greedily opening her wider to him.  The fire burning in her core was nearly unbearable, and yet his cock continued to slam into her relentlessly.  She’d been here with him before, many times, but the sensation that rocked her when he took her this deep was always so intense that she was struck with a moment of fear that it might all be too much.

He wasn’t one for mercy though.  If he could sense her uncertainty, he didn’t offer her a reprieve, instead only pushing her harder, faster, deliciously, until she was thrashing around him, and then-

Then she came.

She came with her arms around him, an ear-splitting shriek escaping her as he sent her tumbling into euphoria.

 “See…” he growled, low and hot against her collarbone as his thrusts became irregular, his shoulders trembling around her as he tried to support himself.  “Liar.”

And with one final surge and a guttural cry, he followed her over the edge, filling her up with his cum.

He collapsed on top of her, the two of them a sweaty, panting mess as they fought to catch their breaths.

Rey moved first.

She extricated herself from the bed and scrambled to find her clothes.  She didn’t look over, but she didn’t need to; she could feel the heat of dark eyes on her the whole time.

“I'm not a liar,” she told him once she was back in her panties, bra and skirt as she rebuttoned her shirt.  It took her longer than normal; her fingers were trembling just a little.  “I’m a journalist, my whole job is about telling the truth.”

She hoped to convey an air of aloof professionalism, and she thought she succeeded relatively well, considering his cum was still dripping down her leg in a manner that was now becoming painfully familiar to her.

He threw her a look from where he lay in bed, naked, lounging with his hands behind his head.

“Then tell the truth and tell me how much you love my cock.”

Rey scoffed, finally done with her last button.  She bent down and retrieved her heels, slipping into them one at a time.

“You're dreaming!”

It was time to leave.  Nothing good ever came from prolonging the aftermath of… well… whatever _this_ was.

She made for the exit and had a hand to the knob when an arm came out of nowhere – his very naked arm – and planted itself firmly against the door.

She hadn’t even heard him get out of bed.

“It's the truth, Rey.  You love my cock, you love our little games, and I think - if you’re honest with yourself - you might even like _me_ a little, too.”

Rey swallowed hard.

He was all up in her space, pressed against the door, and it only emphasised his size.  He was _huge_ , towering over her like that, so close and completely naked… 

She had to force herself to _not_ look down.

She couldn’t.  She had to focus.

Those were fighting words, and she needed to fight back, or else she would be in very real danger.

“I could never like you.”

Her throat was so tight she could barely get the words out, but she stood tall, looking him in the eye, hoping against all hope that he would find certainty there.

Except he was grinning again.

His hand fell from the door and he moved out of her way so that she could finally escape, but not before he had the last word.

“We'll see…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the denial!
> 
> Next up: Dinner!
> 
> What did you think of this chapter, and what are you hoping will happen next?? Please leave a comment below, I would LOVE to hear from you – it’s my favourite part :D
> 
> Until next time, happy Reylo-ing xo  
> [Tumblr](https://aims777.tumblr.com/)


End file.
